


Merry Christmas, Daryl Dixon!

by closetfangirl77



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff Turned Angst, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1497352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closetfangirl77/pseuds/closetfangirl77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His words had haunted her long after they burned the shack. She couldn't give him a pet or a vacation, but she could make sure Daryl got at least one visit from Santy Claus. (Rated T for a smidgeon of bad language.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas, Daryl Dixon!

His words had stayed with her long after the silly drinking game was over. Long after he’d screamed and ranted, before breaking down and accepting comfort. She could still remember the warm feeling of holding his back to her chest, of breathing in the scent that was uniquely Daryl, and of feeling a slight lessening of her own pain in their shared mourning.

As they wandered in search of their missing family and a new sanctuary, his words haunted her. He’d never had a pet. Never been on vacation. Never had a visit from Santy Claus. She couldn’t do anything about the pet. Domesticated animals were a scarce sight these days, and the few they had seen were either skittish or already feral again. Vacation…well, did walking for days on end and camping in primitive conditions count as vacation? Not in this new world. It was just everyday life. The Santa thing though, she could do something about that.

It took Beth a while to figure out a gift for Daryl. For one thing, the man was enigmatic and never mentioned much of what he liked. She wasn’t much closer to knowing his previous hobbies or interests before Walkers screwed up everyone’s lives than she had been before a tiny bit of the walls surrounding him had crumbled. She had done her best to make sure he didn’t rebuild them, and she was trying to wear them down a bit more each day, but it was slow going.

Finally, she decided on something that she could make for him that she hoped he would like. He was used to watching her scribble in her journal, so he didn’t seem to think anything of it when she started working on the project every evening around the firelight, going until the light had faded, and she could no longer see anything.

With the little bit of time she was able to devote to it, it took almost a week to finish the rough state, and another couple of days to add finishing touches. They had already found sanctuary in the mortuary and had enjoyed their white trash brunch before she had finished it.

After their evening meal, Daryl had gone to scope the house again, just to make sure it was secure. The clean state of the home suggested someone used it regularly, and might only be out for a run, and he wanted to be alert for their return.

As soon as he left the kitchen, Beth hobbled over to the drawers and started snooping. She wasn’t planning to take anything of value, and wasn’t looking to satisfy sick curiosity, but was hoping to find what she needed to wrap his present. The kitchen was a bust, and so was the living room, but she found what she needed in a small study farther down the hallway. There were three sheets of wrapping paper and a roll of tape shoved in a drawer. No bows, labels, or Christmas-themed paper, but the silver and black would have to do.

She’d salvaged a box a couple of days ago and had already put the gift inside. Now, she wrapped it as quickly as she could, hating how messy it looked on the sides, but there were no scissors to trim and make it look neat. If this was truly the first gift he’d ever received, Daryl probably wouldn’t be too particular about the appearance anyway. He’d likely dive right in and start tearing before he noticed the sad state of the paper.

A red sharpie she found in the top drawer of the desk made a pretty contrast to the paper, and she wrote: _Merry Xmas, Daryl. Love, Santa._ Once it was done, she tiptoed back to the kitchen, taking the seat Daryl had left her in just a minute or two before he returned. The box was on the table in front of his spot, near the empty jar of grape jelly.

Daryl came back in, sitting down in his seat heavily. “Nothin’ movin’, except some Walkers outside. Think I done saw that scruffy ol’ mongrel out there too, but I can’t be sure.” Suddenly, his gaze fell on the box, and he frowned. “Wha’s that?”

She shrugged. “Hmm, I’m not sure.”

His frown deepened to a scowl. “It didn’t just appear by magic, Beth.”

She couldn’t keep a big grin off her face any longer. “I was over there straightening the cabinet and swear I heard jingle bells. Maybe you should read the label. Looks like somethin’s written there.”

Daryl looked like he thought the box might bite him as he warily slid it closer. His eyes widened as he read the words, and he looked up at her, clearly puzzled. “What the hell is this?”

She pushed back a twinge of embarrassment at his reaction. “I guess Santy Claus is finally payin’ ya’ a visit, Mr. Dixon.”

He made a scoffing sound. “Ain’t nowhere near Christmas, Beth.”

“Who knows if we’ll make it ‘til Christmas?” She touched his arm, conscious of the way he jumped at the brush of her fingers, but refusing to pull back. “Open it, or I might have to call you a scrooge.”

“Buncha nonsense,” he muttered, but his face looked less weary, and there was a small spark of something in his eyes. Excitement? Pleasure? She couldn’t be sure, but hoped he felt all the things one should when getting a gift.

Daryl ripped into the paper just the way she would have expected. Watching him, she had a sudden image in her mind of a little boy who looked just like him, surrounded by a mountain of gifts, tearing into them in a frenzy. When that boy looked up, he had Beth’s eyes. A quick mental examination of the imagery revealed she had imagined it all against the backdrop of the old farmhouse, with her daddy sitting in his favorite chair, watching his grandson unwrap gifts.

She swallowed down the lump that clogged her throat, wanting that moment so badly for a second that she could almost will it to happen. Finally, she took a breath and pushed back the ache, knowing it wasn’t possible. Slanting Daryl a look from the side of her eyes, she reconsidered. The farm and her daddy were long gone, but the idea of someday having Daryl’s son wasn’t completely impossible. Was it?

Lord, she hoped not, considering how she was experiencing a similar ache from wanting him so badly. The ache had started as a niggle on the farm, when she’d first noticed how attractive he could be. It had grown stronger in the prison. Even when she was with Zach, she’d always been hyper-aware of his presence whenever he was near. After their bonding over burning that house, she swore her heart burned just as hot for him as that blazing shack.

His taking off the last scrap of paper to reveal of the box interrupted her thoughts, and she forced them away, wanting to focus on his reaction to the present. He slit the tape holding it closed with his hunting knife before opening the flaps. He seemed a bit hesitant, as though he didn’t want to end the anticipation, when he reached in to take out the paper inside.

Beth held her breath as he unfolded it, gasping softly when his eyes started to look a bit wet.

“It’s beautiful, Beth.” He smoothed open the page, which was an illustration of all the people from the prison that had been important in their lives—Rick, Carl, Michonne, Maggie, Glenn, Tyrese, and Sasha. Herschel and Merle stood in the background, as though watching over the rest.

Beth knew her talents lay more with singing than drawing, but she thought she’d gotten a pretty good likeness of everyone. Judith and Maggie, especially, since she’d spent the most time with them, but she’d been able to capture everyone’s features well enough to be recognizable. Even Merle looked almost like she could remember, though she hadn’t spent much time around him. He’d watched her in a hungry way that always left her feeling vaguely as if she needed a shower. Still, she hadn’t wanted to leave him out of Daryl’s picture. He had been his family. Maybe the kind one didn’t want to claim, but still…

Clearing his throat, he said, “You done a good job.” Then he frowned. “But you ain’t in the picture. Why not?”

Beth stood up to walk closer to Daryl, kneeling down beside his chair. “’Cause I’m right here with ya’, and I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He didn’t flinch away when she put her hand on his knee, both to steady herself and to have some physical contact.

“What happened to that last man standin’ shit?”

Beth’s lips twitched. “Guess I decided I ain’t goin’ anywhere. I’ll just have to take care of myself, so you won’t have to miss me.”

Daryl’s expression softened slightly. “I’ll take care of ya’.”

She shook her head. “You can’t rely on anyone in this world, Daryl. You taught me that.”

He scowled. “That’s a damn shame then. You shouldn’t listen to my dumb redneck ass.”

She patted his knee. “It’s okay. I know what you meant. I can’t expect no prince charming to rescue me.”

His lip curled at the corner. “Sure ain’t no prince charmin’, but I’d rescue ya’ if I could. I’d have to be dead ‘fore I left you to fend for yerself.”

“You’re better than any prince charming.” Beth stretched upward to kiss his stubbly cheek, not taking offense when he stiffened like a starched cat on an ironing board. “’Cause you’re real.” She let her hand creep just one inch higher, allowing the rigidity of his body to guide her when to stop. She knew she’d reached his limit when he froze, frowning fiercely. “Besides, I don’t plan on needin’ rescuing. I’m no damsel in distress, not no more.”

“You’re gonna be an asskicker in no time.”

That was high praise. Beth realized she was still leaning close enough to kiss him again. His head had shifted slightly, so he could look at her, and their gazes locked. It was mesmerizing and left her feeling warm. Their eyes were saying all kinds of things. What was it Carol called this? Eye fucking? Yeah, that about summed it up.

“You’re a good person, Beth.” He whispered the words. “Made me believe such people might still be ‘round.” His mouth twisted. “Never saw no evidence ‘fore the Walkers that any decent folks existed.”

She smiled, finding it so hard not to push forward and touch her lips to his. It seemed strange to her to be the one taking the lead here. In her two previous relationships, she’d been a shy virgin, letting the boys set the pace. While she was still a virgin, she had a feeling Daryl was even more inexperienced with relationships than she was. No doubt he’d had plenty of sex, but when it came to feelings, he was woefully ignorant on how to proceed. It was a bit like the blind leading the blind, though she had a sliver of sight. More importantly, she had a goal in mind and knew what she wanted. Eventually, she would wear down Daryl’s resistance, one touch or word at a time. On a deep level, she just knew things would be okay and work themselves out.

A scratching at the door interrupted her thoughts, and she missed the opportunity to reply to Daryl’s words.

“Damn dog. This’ll lure it in.” He reached for the jar of pigs’ feet.

With a sigh, she stood up, wincing at a pain shooting up her sore foot, and moved out of his way so he could go let in the dog. Once that distraction was out of the way, she’d have him all to herself again.

 

Daryl collapsed to the ground, too exhausted to go on. Sweaty strands of hair clung to his face, and he inhaled raggedly. His heart was thundering in his chest, as it had been since Beth had disappeared in that car last night. With one hand still clenching the crossbow as well as he could with his shaking hands, he took out the sketch she’d made with his other. Staring at the faces of his missing family, a gaping hole seemed to rip itself into his chest. Why hadn’t she drawn herself into the picture? Fuck her and her words that had given him hope. He’d let himself believe she’d be there with him. Daryl didn’t need anybody, but he’d sure liked having her around.

He started to crumple the picture, but stopped, knowing he’d regret it. It was all he had left of his life before, with his family. Until he got Beth back, or found the others, it would give him something to which to cling. The utter hopelessness of actually finding her again made him choke on a bitter taste at the back of his throat, but he fought it down. Summoning a tiny bit of Beth’s strength, at least when it came to maintaining hope, he folded the picture, returned it to his pocket, and grasped his crossbow. It didn’t seem clear how it could happen, but he was resolved to find Beth again. Somehow, some way, he wouldn’t give up.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so this was supposed to be a cute piece of utter Beth/Daryl fluff, but it took on a mind of its own and got all angsty. I couldn’t just leave it like that, so I had to put in a bit of hope. For now, I don’t have any plans to continue this, though I do have an idea of what I’d write about Terminus and finding Beth. No time. *sigh*


End file.
